A Cynic In the Making
by AgapeErosPhilia
Summary: Arlathan was a beautiful dream, and Fen'Harel was a powerful dreamer. While he navigates the crystalline city, he discovers that beauty isn't always what it seems, and the powerful must be careful where they lay their hands. My own version of the ancient elves and how Solas came to be. Definitely AU with some attempts at working in real canon.
1. Power

Solas walked in the Fade for a long time. His eyes were open, but he saw little of his surroundings. Already spirits were crowding the area, anxious for the life and passion they sensed. The battle to defeat Corypheus would be replayed over and over in desperate hope that this reflection of the other side of the Veil would be the one to make them alive. He grimaced. Each side was so anxious to gain the other. Spirits wanted the living to tell them who to be. The living desired the spirits to give them power. Neither had any understanding of the price.

A small spirit next to him, barely formed, tried to shape itself into the body of Cole. He reached out gently and turned it aside to a new purpose. Even now, diminished as he was, he could manipulate the Fade and its residents in the way that had made him so valuable long ago. This little spirit was worth saving. Guilt stabbed him at the thought. Fen'Harel, still so capricious. He saved when it was easy, when he thought of it, and others fell to the wayside in agony hardly noticed. He supposed that made him a god, after all.

The largest and oldest spirit, a spirit of determination, became Evelyn in the distance. The shifting vision of her began the battle again in heavy silence. He turned aside, unwilling to manipulate her image.

Mythal was waiting for him in the world. He sensed her the same way he sensed his fingers at the end of his arm, and his heart already hurt at the failure he would bring to her. She'd warned him against his course. He hadn't listened. Only a quick one, a beautiful spirit who also lived, had saved the world from his pride.

He hoped Evelyn would do better than he had in the time she had left.

Before he found Mythal, before he stepped back into reality and hard choices, he slid his dreamself to Arlathan, the old and perfect city. It was less clear every time he visited, even the spirits drifting away from a place that had once brimmed with elegant light. He sat on the ghostly stone at the gates and remembered.

* * *

><p>Fen'Harel focused on Arlathan as they traveled. It drew temptingly closer, like the lips of a beautiful woman as you dipped your face to hers. Light poured off of its iridescent spires, roiling and filled with a flickering power that tingled over his skin. Some of the group didn't seem to notice the sensation. Some were uneasy, constantly rubbing at their arms to try to scrape it off. Others were lost in adoration, their minds falling open before it in a blank stupor. Of this group, many could no longer walk on their own, and their guides laughed as they put them into a wagon to be carried the rest of the way. "There are always some whose feet won't touch its ground," they said, and the rest of them winced. To be carried into Arlathan was a terrible sin, an affront to the Creators who ruled it. The Elvhen were to be of service, not served.<p>

He felt neither dumb wonder nor apprehension at the gleaming city. The feeling of its lightning on his body was a sensual caress. The power was knife-sharp desire in his stomach, and he chafed at the slow pace they made towards its source. Their group was an esoteric one, full of pilgrims and elders, the sick and needy, and many could do little more than shuffle along. Very few groups were allowed to approach the crystal city without being summoned, and these large caravans were the only sure way.

Still, there was some youth, a number of aspiring attendants like him. They'd been selected from their small villages for their skills, the destinies seen in the leaves of the seers, or even their looks. The guides who led them made the choices, and they were ruthless in their decisions. Still, the merely attractive ones, the ones with nothing else to offer, were most likely to fall into boneless trances, to no one's surprise, and he wondered why they'd been brought at all.

The guides had made it obvious he'd also been chosen for his looks, for his slim and straight body and piercing violet eyes that made those around him curl into the shadow of his beauty without thought. But he also knew the talents that lay hidden inside of him, carefully unrevealed, and his mind stayed clear. He felt the nearing city on every tender place in his soul. Soon he would be with the gods.

Only one other in the group seemed to feel as he did, a woman barely old enough to travel. She called herself Rina. It was clear she hadn't been chosen for beauty, but her talents were undeniable. Even Fen'Harel, awed by no one, watched in silence as her spells slid around them while they moved, drawing nature to them and pushing it away as they needed. The caravan always found the softest places to sleep and the perfect amounts of game when she walked the perimeter, and the hunters marked by Andruil treated her with more respect than any other of their charges. What interested Fen'Harel most, though, was the way her eyes lit with fire when she stared at the city before she slept. He'd thought himself alone in his fearlessness. There was something here to know.

She responded to his advances easily, without embarrassment, and each night they made love under the eye of Arlathan. She kept the world at bay with her powers, and he lost himself in the intensity of it. The energy crackling over them heightened every touch, strengthened every kiss, and it was sex as he'd never had before. He shivered at the thought of sharing a bed with someone inside the city, where the power was strongest.

Rina was inexperienced in love despite her self-assurance, and he suspected any partner would have brought out the same deep pleasure in this place. Still, their shared passion for their destination gave them both a fierce need, and each night left him weak and spent. The hunger itself never abated, only the will to sate it.

As they camped three days out of the city, he traced her bare face with a finger. She'd been particularly wild that night, and he wondered what was driving her forward. He knew better than to ask. Neither of them gave themselves away. Instead, he ran his finger in the patterns of the gods, slowly and carefully. She smiled when she realized what he was doing. "Who do you wish to serve?" he asked again, as he did most nights. She never answered the same way twice.

"Perhaps none. Perhaps I wish to be set among them as an equal." He kicked her and she barked a laugh. A spell rose around them. "Careful, or I'll summon a wolf to eat you."

"Wolves are too smart to make such a poor choice. They know which of us is the more delicious." He nipped at her throat, licking it for emphasis before he pulled away. It was comfortable to flirt with her. She never took him seriously, as others in his village had when he'd lain with them. She didn't expect his devotion, only his ardor, and he was profoundly grateful. He went back to tracing lines on her forehead. "So you want to be as Ghilan'nain, a mortal raised to glory. A worthy goal. But even she served Andruil first."

"True. And I would make a poor hunter. It's hard to kill something that you drew to you without knowing." She sighed. "My mother made me do it far too often, and it never got easier."

"Such a gentle heart," he teased. "Perhaps Sylaise, then, to bandage up the poor creatures you hurt without knowing. Or Anaris, the lord of the small and helpless. He would give you much joy." She hummed noncommittally, and he growled.

She rolled onto her side and stared at him. "I don't know why you want to know so much, or why you think I should tell you. It's not as though you've volunteered anything."

"I'll attend whoever will have me," he said. "I have no skills to attract me to a certain patron."

"Right," she said. "And I'm Mythal. You don't have to say if you don't want to, but don't treat me like I'm blind, Fen'Harel. You're no beautiful idiot." He didn't meet her eyes. Her voice lightened. "Personally I think you'd do well with Dirthamen. All those lovely secrets."

He almost told her then. When he'd been a child, a shaman had stopped in their village for a night. His father was sworn to Sylaise and his mother to Atrel, the god of sleep, so their house had been the place where travelers were always welcome and cared for.

Fen'Harel slept no more deeply than usual, but his visit to the Beyond was richer than usual, full of sights and sounds that he could control instead of only observe. In the dream he laughed, delighted at the sensation of the world shifting under his touch, until rough hands shook him awake. The shaman looked down over him, so sadly that he hadn't even thought to be afraid. He struggled to sit up while the shaman studied him.

"I felt you in the Beyond, child. You changed it. Does this happen to you often?"

Honesty was the only noble path with a guest, his father said. He shook his head. "I've never done anything like that before." He smiled. "I liked it."

The shaman didn't answer his smile. "I see." He thought for a long time before speaking again. "This is a powerful gift. You are meant for greatness, little one."

Fen'Harel swelled with pride. A shaman was here, giving him a prophecy for himself. The village would envy him, elevate him, love him. The shaman saw his reaction and frowned. "This is not a thing that can be known to the world. It will draw things to you that shouldn't be yet. It will put you in danger, and your parents and sisters and friends. Greatness carries a cost." Then there was fear, a hot fear in the base of his belly. The men and women of prophecy never lied about what could be.

The shaman nodded. "Yes, it is something to fear. You must keep your talent hidden. I will make you safe, as I can, but there will come a day when men and women come here to look for you. They won't know that is what they are doing, but it will be all the same. It may be ten years or a hundred from now. You will know them when they come. Allow them to take you to Arlathan. You will serve the Creators, child."

"I can't," he protested over the thrill that ran through his bones. "No one from here has survived the choosing for hundreds of years. We're not strong enough."

"Nevertheless, it's what you will do." The older elf seemed to struggle with himself briefly. "You will shape many things, Fen'Harel. The powerful must be careful where they lay their hands. I will leave you with no guide, no explanations, for that's what was decided for your path, but I will tell you this. Be as wise as you can. Be silent and secret. Be kind. Until then, be safe." The shaman placed his hand on Fen'Harel's forehead and sent his power through it. Fen'Harel felt a bubble wrap around his mind, and he cried out from the strangeness.

The older elf didn't acknowledge the cry, only walked out of the room. He left the next day without another word to the frightened young boy who wanted to ask him so much. Fen'Harel kept his silence and his secrets in the day, and in the night he learned greater control over his dreams. He learned much from the spirits there, so old and wise, though they seemed to want things from him that he could never understand. Their pleas slipped away against the barrier in his mind whenever they asked. He gave them the things that he could understand, small items created from his own will, and their happiness was breathtaking. The business of the village was mundane and pale against the backdrop of his inner mind, and it chafed that no one could know.

The men and women had come to the village fifty years after the shaman had stayed with them. They didn't know him, but he knew it was time. Fen'Harel was just entering the earliest prime of life, and he was anxious for the promise to be fulfilled. He left without question, though his parents feared for his life, and he couldn't reassure them the way they needed. He wanted to tell them that he was destined for success. He wanted to tell them he wasn't leaving, he was arriving. He wanted to tell them that he wouldn't fall, he would fly.

He told them goodbye, instead.

Now Rina looked at him curiously as he forgot himself in the memory of the prophecy. Should he tell her? At least some of it? Maybe she would understand. Something familiar was inside of her as well. But the bubble that protected his mind was weakening in the light of Arlathan, and he wondered if his time of safety was over. He craved the danger, but he didn't want it to touch her, the first friend he'd made outside of the safety of the known.

"He who tells good tales of himself tells only lies," he quoted instead. She grinned. "Secrets sustain us, sweetling. Secrets and sex." He pulled her on top of him as the hunger under the surface of his skin bubbled up again.

"You're trying to distract me, aren't you?" she asked, but she moved against his need nonetheless.

"Perhaps our conversation was the distraction." As she lowered her mouth to his and sent them both into trembling desire, he pushed away the memory of the shaman's face. His markings had been of Elgar'nan, the most powerful of all the Creators. Fen'Harel knew that's who he would serve. It was impossible, really. The Father of them all chose only the best, and his tests were the most brutal of all. But a life of greatness would be found with no one else.

When he walked through the gates three days later, he was the first of the travelers to do so. The stones under his bare feet were soaked with the power of the gods, and he bit back a groan. Rina was behind him, breathing just as heavily. He reached back to grip her hand. It was time to find a destiny.


	2. Education

The attendants-in-training were housed in the middle ring of Arlathan in surprisingly opulent quarters. The whispers about the difficulty of the provings had made him expect hardship and denial, not the soft luxury around them. Then again, from what he could tell, everyone inside the gates of the city lived the same way no matter who they were.

The city was arranged in three concentric rings. The outer held the elves who created the physical, working with their hands. The rings had no names, but those who lived there called it Da'june, the little June, after the crafting god. Not everyone who lived there was sworn to him - in fact, most weren't - but it seemed a fitting tribute to their skill. Arlathan-made weapons and clothing were treasured in the outer reaches of the Elvhen, all the more because they contained some magic that only allowed them to work for their true owner. To own a piece of Arlathan was to own the gods' favor, worth more even than the item itself.

The middle ring was reserved for the elves who worked with magic and used their minds. They rarely created anything physical, only altered the reality of what was. They took as their patron Daern'thal, the god of magic, and he was said to guide their efforts to create a better world. The trainees had been warned when they were settled that many of the buildings around them were home to delicate magical workings, easily disturbed, and any who did would find a quick reprisal from Daern'thal's brothers. Falon'Din was the god of death, who could take you where you stood, and Dirthamen was the keeper of secrets, who could make sure you were never found. The three brothers were triplets, said to be one soul across three bodies, and they took any insult to one as an insult to all. Fen'Harel was careful never to let himself alter the world of dreams within the walls of Arlathan after that.

The inner ring was the ring where the gods lived, and its entrance was jealously guarded. As trainees they had no hope of entering, but they pounced on anyone who returned from it, pressing for details. The answers were always vague and unhelpful. It was beautiful. It was powerful. It was holy. Nothing specific, nothing that would help them. He itched under the skin, desperate to learn something that would be of use. He was careful not to tell anyone of his desires except Rina. They'd stopped sleeping together, by mutual agreement, but their friendship continued easily. They sat often in a café around the corner from their lodgings and spoke about themselves and their situation until they'd discussed nearly everything. The only secrets remaining between them were the nature of his power and the nature of her own goals.

One day she arrived full to bursting with excitement, eyes promising knowledge, and he fidgeted while she sat and ordered. "What have you learned?" he demanded once they both had their tea.

"Ah, the impatience of youth," she said, in the teasing tones of someone who knew she was a full decade younger than him. He wrinkled his nose at her and she laughed. "Nothing about the inner ring, I'm afraid. Whatever they say to people to keep their mouths shut, it works all too well."

He sat back, releasing a breath he hadn't known he was holding. "That's disappointing. I was hoping…" he trailed off, and she nodded. Rina knew that he'd been hoping for an advantage. Elgar'nan was the most difficult god to learn anything about, and that was truly remarkable given that the rest were not exactly freely discussed. Everyone knew of him, of course, but only the broad strokes. His role. His power. His reclusiveness. It seemed perverse, but the more important a Creator the less he was understood. So while there were hints about the others in the pantheon, how to gain their preference, he was no farther along in his goal than when they'd arrived weeks ago.

Then Rina smiled wickedly. "I didn't learn a thing about the ring, but I did learn something of the Father."

"What?" Only years of practice hiding himself kept his voice from rising in a yelp. She smiled even more widely, and he narrowed his eyes. "For a person who claims to hate causing pain, you are very good at it. Please, Rina, don't play with me."

"Fine, fine. You know the magical workings they keep warning us not to interrupt? They've been going on for years and years, sometimes the same spell for the entire time, sometimes minor variations on the theme, and lately they've started bringing in the entire middle ring to assist."

"Yes, I know. The efforts to find some way to travel using magic." He waved his hand dismissively. "It seems pointless. It takes no longer than a month to reach even the farthest Elvhen city. And even for those incapable of physical travel, the price to use magic would be far too high."

"You're not seeing the big picture. Imagine how many new places we could reach without risk. Nature would be safe from our heavy wagons that tear the earth. And you know what they're saying, about these quick ones from the north. They're starting to press closer. What if we could scout them without leaving a mark upon the ground? We might never even need to fight."

He remained skeptical. "Those are all nice, but hardly worthy of so much attention and effort. The quick ones cannot be so dangerous as all that, or we would already be fighting. Besides, the magical workings are the purview of Daern'thal, and I have no spells to give in aid even if it would help me."

"Not Daern'thal. Elgar'nan is the one driving this." She basked in his stunned reaction. "One of the instructors approached me yesterday, said there was an opportunity to prove myself. Not a proving, but a leg up when the time came. I said yes, of course, and they took me to a spire a mile or so away. It was nice there. They had a wild garden surrounding it. Beautiful and calming."

Fen'Harel tried to be happy for her. He knew how restless she was in the city, away from the gentle touches of nature that she'd lived with so long, but he had no time to wait for her to get to the point. "Forget the garden. Tell me what happened." She looked hurt, and he felt a slash of guilt, but his curiosity was driving him beyond apologies.

"I went inside and there were several casters working together. Or mostly together. It was difficult to follow the delicate dance of their magic. Elves came and went in what looked like randomness, but it wasn't. There was purpose there, a bent focus that I've never seen before. The magic they practice in Arlathan is very different from anything I've experienced. And all of the elves wore different markings, no one god the majority." She sipped her tea, then continued. "One of them told me they were hoping to pull nature magic into the working, and they'd heard I was good at not only drawing things to me, but finding safe havens. They thought it might be useful in a travel spell."

"Are those some of the things you've been working on with the magic instructors?" he asked, momentarily diverted. As one of the pretty acolytes, with no acknowledged skill, he'd been mostly made to memorize the names of all the gods, the proper methods of address to various classes, and the best way to hold serving trays without spilling them. He envied the scholars and the magicians who were allowed to use their brains for something besides inventive fawning.

"Yes, they were very excited by them, especially the safe haven ability. I didn't understand why until then. They used a device I'd never seen before to capture a part of my magic and place it in the circle with bottles of what I assume was others' magic." He leaned forward in concern, and she smiled reassuringly. "Don't worry. I don't feel diminished in any way. Actually, I feel a bit stronger, like they skimmed off something in my talent that was holding me back. Anyway, when I was explaining the technical and emotional triggers of what I do to the woman in charge, which was exhilarating in itself, a woman and a very old man walked in. They both wore the markings of Elgar'nan, the first I've seen here. And the old man was a shaman."

He drew in a sharp breath. "My shaman?" He'd told her about the prophecy, with a few altered details.

"I didn't get to ask his name, not that you gave me one anyway, but I wondered. They pulled the leader aside and talked to her for a while. I didn't pick up all of it, but it was clear who was really in charge. She was tough, had given no ground to anyone, but she practically cowered in front of these two. The god of justice must really want something. And when he really wants something, apparently everyone works to get it."

Fen'Harel slumped then, discouraged. "It's good to learn he still deals outside of the inner ring, but it still doesn't help me. I'm no mage." He looked up hopefully. "Unless you can learn more. Help me meet them somehow."

"I don't think that will be necessary. Before they left, while the two women were still talking, the shaman shuffled around the room we were in, peering at the things around him. I thought he was just passing the time, but he paused by me. 'So, he is here,' he said. 'You've been touched by him. Tell the boy it will not be long.' I assumed he meant you," said Rina.

He couldn't stop the smile from crossing his face, and he gripped both hands around his mug to keep them still. He wasn't forgotten. Then he frowned. But it was only a vague promise. It wasn't certain that it would be what he wanted. Still, the hope was more than he'd had. "Thank you. Truly. My words are not sufficient to express the joy of my heart."

"You're welcome. I'm glad you're pleased." She paused and looked uncertain for the first time. "Fen'Harel, please be careful. I brought you the message because he bade me to, and because I wanted to bring you some good news for once. But there was something terrible about him. When he said you'd touched me, he looked at me like I look at the animals I draw to the hunt. Tender, and regretful, and even a little afraid. But I still killed them, even while I cried."

Rina played with the ends of her hair. "I'm not sure that you're safe, in this destiny you've been given," she said. "I'm not sure if any of us are. The look he gave me was so ancient, like the stars in the sky. My village always said the stars are the flickering of the great ones who failed, who have to live on in the sky watching but never touching. I think the shaman wanted to warn you, and through you warn me. It makes me wonder what you might have to do to me, now that you've drawn me to you."

He shivered, afraid for the first time since the prophecy. He moved his chair around the table and wrapped her in a hug. "I would never, never, my friend. You are too dear to wound." He chuckled against her hair. "Besides, I seem to remember you were the one who drew me, just like the poor animals you claim to treasure. I was merely your prey."

She shook her head. "Sometimes I draw prey. Other times predators. I never know what it will be until it's there. But it wasn't that way. You were just bored."

"Untrue." He leaned back and studied her. She was no more or less than she'd ever been, though her eyes were sad. He kissed her softly, trying to show her what he had no words to say. Not love, but regard. Caring. Friendship. He pulled away and hoped it was enough. "You're a beautiful spirit and the friend I'd been longing for without knowing. I won't let anyone hurt you. Least of all myself."

* * *

><p>A week later, it happened. In the middle of another numbing examination of etiquette, a handful of guards with the markings of Elgar'nan burst into the room without a word. They swept the class with their eyes, then strode to Fen'Harel without hesitation. Two of them gripped his arms on either side, and he was forcefully marched to the door in total silence. None of his fellows made so much as a sound, even the ones who were bright enough to feel fear instead of awe. For himself, he didn't struggle, but he did slow their pace as best he could. He refused to be dictated to.<p>

One of the instructors held up a hand before they left. "Wait, please." He stepped closer, then removed the bracelet they all wore to show their trainee status. His face held so much sorrow that Fen'Harel wanted to comfort him. This wasn't punishment. It was a gift. But he said nothing, and the moment passed.

The guards released his arms when they reached the hall, and he followed them obediently. Only when they went straight to the door instead of the dormitory room did he protest. "My things are still here."

"What you need will be provided," a guard answered flatly. "Come."

When they were halfway to the inner gate he panicked. Rina. He hadn't said goodbye. She wouldn't know where he'd gone. He should have asked someone to tell her. He summoned up his courage. "I have a friend still in training. Could you give her a message?'

"No. You're going to the place of the gods. No outside contact allowed until you've been cleansed of the sins the world has laid on you."

He thought about arguing, but knew it would be no use. She would hear about it. She would know he was okay. He had to focus on what was ahead of him. The promise was waiting.

The gates opened before they reached them, as if they knew to welcome him, and he smiled. The guards didn't stop him from walking through, and he concentrated on keeping his back straight and his hands steady. The power that permeated Arlathan was no more potent here than elsewhere, but it was both deeper and closer to the surface. It was the difference between standing beside a lake and standing inside of it. He had to fight not to react. He did well until the gates closed behind him. He jumped and spun around.

When he did, he noticed a figure beside them he hadn't seen before. The old shaman. Fen'Harel smiled broadly. "I've come to serve, as you foresaw."

The old man nodded slowly. "So you have. It's been a long time, boy."

"Too long!" a voice boomed from behind him. He jumped again, feeling foolish, and tried to make his spin more graceful this time. A tall elf, broad and powerful, stood with a pleased expression on the steps to the nearest building. He wore his black hair long, to his shoulders, and his eyes were blue pools, with the same sharp clarity of the crystal walls around them. Fen'Harel's mouth went dry as wanting surged through him. He was by far the most handsome elf he'd ever seen, and his reaction was embarrassing and anything but voluntarily. The man didn't seem to notice.

"Hello, child. I am Elgar'nan, god of justice. Ruler of, and father to, the Elvhen. I've been waiting to meet you."


	3. Touch

"My Lord," said Fen'Harel and knelt on the stones. He lowered himself until his head rested on the ground, shivering at the power in it that seemed even stronger when he was pressed against it. He felt his mind slipping into the soft fog he'd seen on the faces of those who'd traveled with them, and he gave himself a mental slap. That wouldn't happen to him. The shaman was clearly in control of his own mind. He would be, too.

The ground seemed to swell underneath him, cresting on a wave of energy, as the god stepped closer. He saw and heard nothing, but he felt it rocking against his palms all the same. He bit back a groan. The price of keeping his mind clear seemed to be experiencing the world around him in primal fashion, and that was almost as bad as no control at all. He wanted to slip into the Beyond, to gather the strength of nearby spirits to bolster his defenses, but he didn't dare. The instinct to hide himself was strong after so many years of secrecy.

Elgar'nan spoke lazily above him. "Rise. You're no use to me if you fawn, child."

Fen'Harel scrambled to his feet and then stood, uncertain. The shaman stepped beside him and placed a hand on his elbow. A thread of resolve wound through him, strengthening him, and he no longer felt like he stood on a land that shifted like a leaf on the water.

"Yes, very good, Manon. We can't have him tripping over his own feet on the way to the baths."

The god strode away, and the shaman tugged him forward slightly to follow. "The baths?" he muttered.

"Yes, little one. You've been in the world too long. The gods will find it uncomfortable until you cleanse. It's an honor the Father came to see you at all before it was done."

Fen'Harel tried to feel proud, but the man's somber tones belied the positivity of the words. He remembered Rina's description. Old like the failure of stars. He straightened his back. He would not be afraid, and he would not fail. "I'm no little one anymore, old man."

There was no reaction. "You've aged, but you've not grown. When you reach the end of your road, you will understand why you were still so young today."

They reached the entrance of a clouded building, gray and dark compared to the brilliant lights around them. As they stepped through the arch, Fen'Harel snarled. "I've done everything you wanted. I stayed hidden. I came when summoned. I'm here now. Why are you so disappointed?"

"Wants and destinies do not mix. It is not what I want. It is not what you want. It is not even what he wants." Manon nodded to the god who leaned against a wall, waiting. "It's what this life demanded. When a seed grows into a tree, you do not congratulate it for doing what you wanted. You simply acknowledge it for being what it is. If you look for praise from me, you look in vain."

"Fine. Your approval doesn't matter anyway. It's his favor that I want."

He jumped when Elgar'nan laughed. He blushed. He hadn't realized the god could hear him. "You have a nose for politics, I'll give you that." The man snapped his fingers, and a section of floor vanished in between them, revealing a deep pool. Fen'Harel couldn't stop a yelp. He'd never seen anyone do magic in such a way, without even a whisper of the Beyond around them. Before he could ask, the god pointed at the pool. "Get in. You're aging me just by standing there, with that cloak of world-time hanging around you."

"World-time?"

Manon answered. "The world outside these gates behaves differently than inside. The time we occupy remains the same, but it changes us less quickly inside. We age more slowly. The pool will remove those hasty remnants from you. And your clothing must be burned."

He paled. He had no shame of his body, but in the presence of Elgar'nan his normal confidence was harder to maintain, especially because his arousal hadn't quite subsided. Neither man seemed up for an argument, however, so he disrobed as quickly as possible and slid into the pool. The water was clouded, murky, and hopefully hid him well enough, though from the god's smirk it hadn't gone completely unnoticed.

The pool was warmer than he'd anticipated and had a soothing scent, and against his better judgment he found himself drifting away on its gentle currents. He didn't notice what happened to his clothing, didn't open his eyes when water washed over his face and hair, and barely heard the murmured conversation happening above him. It was as though the water seeped into his body through his skin, giving him calm while taking away the heavy burden of time. A weight he hadn't even known he carried lifted off of him.

Songs that spoke of the peace of Arlathan rose into his mind, and he knew this is what they meant. Peace, and safety, and beauty. He felt open and free for the first time since childhood. The magic of the crystal city was his.

At that he frowned and struggled to open his eyes. Was this magic? What was making him drop his guard so low? It was unlike him to be so trusting, and he fought the peace that was threatening to overtake him. His mind was his own!

He finally opened his heavy lids to see Elgar'nan sitting cross-legged above him at the pool's edge. The god laughed in seemingly sincere amusement and maybe a little surprise. He looked over at the shaman who bore his markings. "You were right, Manon, this one is strong. His mind isn't easily bent. That's very good. Perhaps I will forgive you for making me wait so long, after all."

"Thank you, my Lord, but it was not my doing. The world needed his mind to be so."

"Pah. The world. What does it know of my needs? But now we can begin. At least…" The god frowned. "Some of this strength isn't his. It's yours. I feel you in his mind. That won't do. Remove the protections."

Fen'Harel's eyes widened slightly, in fear or eagerness he wasn't certain. The bubble inside of him had kept him safe for years, guided him away from pitfalls. He wasn't sure what he would be without it. But a place inside of himself burned with the desire to find out. He wanted to be let go.

The shaman hesitated only slightly, then walked around the pool to kneel above his head. His hands pressed gently to the same place as they had so long ago, and he felt a deep sense of loss as something so familiar vanished without a trace. Its disappearance felt like the first time he'd seen his parents argue, truly argue, and he'd realized the world around him had more sharp edges than he'd imagined. He wanted to beg Manon to give it back, to make the world soft and easy again, but he bit his lip and endured. He was rewarded with another pleased look from the powerful Creator watching him.

"Very good. Now," he said, bending over to brush Fen'Harel's forehead with his own finger, "sleep, child. Let us see what you can accomplish." His body responded quickly, sinking down into languor, even as he struggled against it.

"My Lord, I don't know if that -" started the shaman, but the god cut him off.

"Your job is not to advise me. It was to bring me a prize, which you did ably, if slowly. And now your job is complete. But if you're concerned, here is your new task. Protect him in the Beyond, before you pass through to what is next." The god removed his hand from Fen'Harel's forehead and stretched it to Manon's, who crumpled to the ground motionless. Manon's chest was still, and Fen'Harel knew instinctively that he was dead. His horror was enough to shatter his exhaustion, and he tried to sit up, to reach out to the old elf. Elgar'nan pushed him back down.

"He's past your help. He waits for you on the other side, if legends are true. Go to him there." Hands whispered over his face again, cradling him and draining the energy from his limbs. Darkness rushed through his mind, as if the candle of his consciousness had been snuffed out, and he felt himself falling into sleep. "That's it, beautiful Fen'Harel. Show me what you will do."

He dreamed.

* * *

><p>The first thing he noticed was the noise. The world of dreams had always been muted, like listening to conversations on the other side of a wall, but now voices shouted at him with no barrier. He sank to the ethereal ground with his hands over his ears. Spirits crowded him, sensing something new, something alive, and they wanted so many things. Some wanted his body, some his mind, some just his touch. Others begged for him to show them the way through, to the place where they could become. He stared at his knees and tried to close them out. He took pieces of the air around him and built a wall of glass around his huddled form, and the spirits were pushed aside and muffled. They pounded against it, threw themselves into it over and over again, but that noise was better than their screams.<p>

He looked up again, and noticed the second thing, that the landscape around him was completely desolate. The entire dream world was gray and flat as far as he could see. It wasn't the desolation of a place that held little, but of a place that held nothing at all. No, even more than that. It was the feeling of a place that had once held an entire world and now was drained and dead. The spirits had nothing to live off of here. No wonder they were so desperate. He wondered why they stayed.

And then, in front of him, inside the cage he'd made to hold him safe, was the third thing. Manon's spirit, vague and insubstantial, wavered in the air. He remembered why he was here, and he stood quickly. Without thought, his hand reached out to the ghost-like figure and spun reality inside of him, as he'd done to other spirits who were weakening out of the dreamscape. Manon frowned at him, even as he solidified. "You shouldn't have done that, little one. The choice to make things real is not to be made lightly."

"It wasn't a choice at all," he said, truthfully, and the shaman's expression lightened a little.

"You have gained some control, at least. Now you must gain understanding. You must, or you will lose yourself. Learn to examine, not just see. Learn to listen, not just hear. Arlathan is a place of secrets."

"Then tell me what they are. You told me nothing as a child. Give me something now, something that will help me."

"I wish I could, but my will isn't my own, even in death. I cannot speak of the things in the shadows. You'll understand this, soon. But you have this place, and you alone. Store yourself here. Store your memories here, in your dreams, where you will always find them. It will keep you safe. If you don't, Elgar'nan will have his desire."

Fen'Harel shook his head. "Why shouldn't he? I want to serve him. He's the most powerful of the Creators, and I'll be great at his side. You gave me this destiny."

"Then serve him. But keep your mind your own. He only has power over you if you allow yourself to slip away." Manon's reality started to unravel slowly, fading him into insubstantiality again. Fen'Harel frowned and reached out again. His power had never failed so quickly before. The ghost stepped back. "Don't. This land cannot sustain me. It's hungry and open. It will feed off of what you give it to return to what it was."

Fen'Harel looked down and saw he was right. The gray floor below them had twisted into colors, a mosaic of astonishing beauty. He reached down to touch it and the colors moved under his hand, startling him into a laugh. He quickly bent his will to them, creating a picture of Manon's grave face as he'd seen it as a child, leaning over him and shaking him from his dreams. He looked up at the ghost, who smiled sadly. He bent his will one more time, erasing the markings of Elgar'nan from the image, and then the smile became real.

"Thank you, little one. You have held onto kindness. Carry it with you as you walk. I will be here as long as I'm able."

He started to answer, but he felt hands on his body, his real body, waking him. He couldn't hold on and lifted out of the dream. His last glimpse was of the glass cage collapsing, and the spirits crowding around the old elf's ghost.

* * *

><p>When he woke, he was no longer in the bath house, but in a bed in an unfamiliar room. He wore a robe of the softest material he'd ever felt, and the pillows underneath his head were even more luxurious than the ones he'd known in the training dormitory. A handful of elves with the markings of the Father moved silently around him, organizing, taking, or leaving things all over the huge room. When one woman noticed he was awake, she quickly left the room by a previously untouched door, and the others stilled, watching him. He sat up, a little unnerved at the attention, but too confused to ask even the simple question of what had happened. He'd felt hands on him, waking him, but he was entirely untouched. His dream was fading, and he felt very alone.<p>

A young man stepped forward then, offering him a glass of water. He became aware of how thirsty he was and took it, drinking it eagerly. He almost choked when he realized it was wine instead of water, wine of sparkling clarity, but he drank it anyway. His head swam a little from the alcohol, but he couldn't have stopped if he wanted to. "Thank you," he said hoarsely. "What's your name?"

"Therin," he said.

"Where am I, Therin?"

"Your room, my Lord."

"My room? All of this space is for one person?" Fen'Harel couldn't hide his shock. The other elf nodded, and he bit his lip. "Why were things being taken out of it then? Did it used to be something else?"

Therin looked at him without expression. "This was my room. My things are being relocated, per the master's request."

"But that - I mean, no! That's not necessary. I don't need this room."

"Of course you do," said an amused voice from the door. Elgar'nan stood in the doorway the woman had left through, watching. "This is the only room that attaches to mine, and if your power only serves me in your sleep, you'll need to be close while you do it."

"I suppose, but -"

"But nothing. Therin was happy to accommodate us both, weren't you?" The god walked over to the young man, who nodded with a face that held total worship. Even from the bed Fen'Harel could feel the wave of power that surrounded the other elf in that moment, and his mind tried frantically to tell him that something was wrong. Elgar'nan's eyes turned to him and the same power washed over him, with less strength, and the thought vanished before it could fully form. He found himself nodding as well. It was completely rational that he would have this room, if that was the god's will.

The man smiled. "Excellent, we all agree. Now, everyone, please leave me alone with the new attendant."

They filed out, and Fen'Harel looked up, confused. "Attendant? Did I pass the proving already?"

"Oh, no. Certainly not. Proving yourself worthy of my patronage is a much longer process than that. But you made a strong start."

His heart swelled. Elgar'nan was proud of him. He'd made it through the first stage. The rebellious part of himself tried to figure out if he felt proud because he'd gotten what he wanted or because of the magic that had swirled through him a few minutes ago. "What else do I need to do?"

"All in good time, Fen'Harel. Not everything is in place. For now, rest. Learn about my people. Explore the area. And above all, keep silent about yourself. If anyone asks you why you're here, tell them only that I require it. If they press you, answer nothing else and let me know." He leaned forward for emphasis. "No matter who it is. Even if it's my wife."

"Mythal will question me?" he asked incredulously. "Why would she care?"

Elgar'nan laughed. "A good question. She's always been a little jealous, I suppose." The god reached out and smoothed a finger along Fen'Harel's cheek. "And you're unusual. It's been some time since I've allowed anyone with a bare face to reside in my home."

He shivered under the touch, and the man smiled and continued his tracing. His eyes darkened. "I felt what you did in the Beyond, Fen'Harel. Even now… it was a sensation I haven't felt in a long time, and I want no one else to know it's possible. Never manipulate your dreams beyond this room."

"I won't."

"Good," said Elgar'nan. His voice lowered on the word, grew more sensual, and Fen'Harel felt himself responding to it, along with the finger that still whispered over his skin. The man in front of him was more beautiful than any he'd ever known, and he wanted him with all his being. The hunger he'd felt on the journey to the city was nothing compared to the need the god was stirring in him now. Elgar'nan's face was hard and amused, clearly waiting, but there was no power wrapping around the bed. There was nothing but his touch and his voice.

Understanding came. The man wanted him to beg, but wanted it from a someone with a clear head. Fen'Harel wouldn't. The rebellious part wouldn't allow it, not while he was still unequal in so many other ways. He clenched his hands into fists until his nails cut his palms. He remembered a colored picture of Manon, one that he'd created, though he couldn't remember where. It was important somehow, to remain himself. His mind was his own.

Fen'Harel pulled his face away, and Elgar'nan looked legitimately surprised, but there was no anger. Instead his eyes filled with challenge, and his grin was predatory. "So, you're too proud. No matter. Your service doesn't require your body." The god stood. "Yet. I've been alive longer than you can imagine, shaper, and eventually everyone reaches their limit. You will as well. I look forward to it."

He sank back into the pillows as the man walked back into his own room. He let out a breath and tried to hold onto himself. Though his head told him he should get up, start learning about his new home, he laid back and slept instead. He hoped to steal a few more hours in the world of dreams, which held nothing at all now that he was in the home of the gods. Nothing but safety.


	4. Division

The next months passed in a haze as he became two people. One was Fen'Harel as he'd always been, dreamer and walker in the Beyond, who remembered little of his waking time. He searched the expanse of empty dreamscape for anything new, always trailed by the spirits who seemed stronger in his presence. Manon had faded into the next world quickly, and Fen'Harel soon lost the way to the picture of him that was burned onto the ground, though he knew it still remained somewhere. Without landmarks, navigation was impossible, and his attempts to create a system to do so failed. His ability to affect the world around him was muted and more difficult here. A small part of himself that he didn't understand told him that he shouldn't do too much, shouldn't reveal his whole power. He didn't know why, but he always trusted his instincts, so the will he brought to bear was light, gentle, and very little remained permanent.

The spirits around him were changed more easily, and he came to think of them as friends. Some were gentle, once they knew they were heard. He spun them small kindnesses, flowers and simple toys, and they were pleased to accept them in exchange for peace. A few were more aggressive, testing him and sharpening his mind against them. He learned to defend, and they could never gain the purchase they desired inside of him. One in particular, a pride demon, was the fiercest and most cunning. He trapped that one inside a cage of its own most nights, to avoid exhausting himself in his own defense.

He never saw another elf in all of his travels, no gods or even servants, and he wondered why this piece of the Beyond was so closed away.

The second Fen'Harel was a happy, awed attendant, wandering the halls of the true Arlathan with a softness of mind that would have frightened those who knew him best. It was the mind of a simpleton, but its openness served a purpose he only vaguely saw. Those he met were wary of his unmarked face, wondered who he served to be wandering so freely without being claimed, but once he approached with such a fascinated, unfeigned mind, they relaxed. "Only a beautiful face," they said. It became common knowledge that Elgar'nan was keeping him, and his questions were so basic and nonintrusive that even the wariest of gods began to relax. The servants and guards were even easier with him. Not one of them, no matter how sharp their mind, was untouched by the pleasant fog of the city that lived with the thrum of ancient power.

He saw Elgar'nan rarely, only a few days each week, though he understood that this was more often than most of his claimed did. Therin was the one to give him the background he needed on how the judgment god's household worked, but he had little to tell of the rest of the land. When Fen'Harel asked why, the other man shrugged. "I never wanted to explore it. The service I desire lives in these walls." He spoke simply and without pretense, as all attendants did, and Fen'Harel accepted it as well. He apologized again for taking the man's room, but he was waved away. "It's of no matter. You took my room, but you haven't taken my place."

Therin smiled, and Fen'Harel felt a knife of jealousy run him through. It was muted and ephemeral, but real enough. Negative emotions faded quickly in the mist of Holy Arlathan, but that didn't mean they were never felt. The small part of him that rebelled chastised himself for the emotion. The god's bed was dangerous, even if nothing couldn't tell him why. He trusted his instincts here, too, confusing though they were, and stayed chaste inside his cavernous room. Elgar'nan had shown no signs of being bored by the game, sitting and speaking with him for minutes or even an hour, letting the tension build to heights that were almost unbearable before slipping away. Always Fen'Harel felt his hand reaching out, wanting to touch skin and be touched in return, hard and aching against his the confinements he placed on himself. But he hadn't broken yet, though his diminished mind wondered why with more and more frequency.

Only when he was sliding between the worlds of waking and sleeping did his two minds see each other, as though they passed on a street, and each time he felt a shock run through him. _Hold on,_ they called to each other, _don't forget me._ But inevitably he did, whichever direction he went, and the sense of loss was brief but complete when he faded into one being again.

* * *

><p>Dirthamen joined him one day as he sat under a tree. Because it was Arlathan, the tree was perfect in every line, but still no more perfect than the tree next to it, or the one beyond. The small part of him wondered how that could be, that there could be so much perfection without repetition, but the thought floated away on the wind.<p>

The god who joined him was fair and light, shining like the sun when he smiled. Even when he was serious, as he was now, he seemed lit from within by fire. Fen'Harel asked in a wondering voice, "Secrets are best hidden in darkness, so why is the god of secrets so fair?"

"It's a secret!" cried the god merrily, and laughed at his own joke. He sobered. "No, child, it is more complicated, as all things are. The light illuminates what is hidden, so it can be found. But it also hides itself. When others look at the source, they think they see what it is, because they see the light it gives. They never see past it. Inside the brightest light is the best place to hide. Do you understand?"

He nodded, because the god wanted him to, and Dirthamen looked amused. "Yes, I'm sure. Should I tell you of your own secrets, bare-faced Fen'Harel?" His mind flew to the dreams that whispered in the back of his mind, and he didn't answer. The god didn't seem to care. "It takes no great magic to divine them. Elgar'nan seeks the access to the Beyond that we've lost. You must hold the key, or he wouldn't bother with you in this way."

"I'm here because he desires it," said Fen'Harel.

"Yes, yes." Dirthamen waved his hand. "The line you've been given, of course. Don't misunderstand me. I'm not an enemy or a spy. I support the Father's goal whole-heartedly and wish you all success. But if you tire of him, or wish to choose another, remember that I know. You'd be safer with me, in the end."

The god's voice stilled, and they sat quietly. He was one of the few Creators who enjoyed silence for its own sake, but he also used it as a weapon. Fen'Harel knew this was true but remained defenseless against it. "You can't enter the Beyond?"

"Not in centuries," the god said confidentially. "It's what's hidden in the light of this place. Holy Arlathan allows none access to the world of dreams." He raised his eyebrow, so light and fine. "Except perhaps you."

He looked away, unwilling to break his promise to Elgar'nan but too curious for an outright denial. "But I've seen the magic you work. All of you. How can you without access to the spirit world?"

The Secret Keeper laughed. "This?" Fire appeared on the tips of his fingers and danced up and down his arm before snapping back under his skin. "Every problem has a solution. But some solutions wear thin for us all. Tell me, what's it like, in there?"

Fen'Harel started. "You don't remember?" Oddly he felt sorry for the being in front of him, who could probably crush him with only a thought. His face held the look of a child who'd been left behind from the hunt, wistful and lonely, and he shook his head. Fen'Harel looked for words that wouldn't betray. "Outside of here, it's a reflection of the world around it, and the world you bring to it. It mirrors both places and souls, until the soul becomes the place and the place becomes the soul. It shows what's true and forgotten, false and known. It's hungry for the life it can only press against and never know. It's beautiful."

"And inside of here?"

He hesitated, running his fingers through the grass that never needed tending. The god next to him invited no worship, and the fog around Fen'Harel's mind felt lighter. He wanted to speak the truth. "Barren nothingness. Empty spirits. Desperation."

"A true mirror indeed," mumbled the god. He looked sidelong at Fen'Harel. "Few attendants would choose honesty with me, child. Even fewer those who live outside of the true protection of a patron as you do. And believe me, I would know a lie. Aren't you worried what I'll do with your trust?"

"Yes," he answered without thinking.

The god laughed again, even more riotously. "Yes, you are strange. What I will do with your trust is repay it, I think, little Fen'Harel. A secret, for you to hold." He reached out and placed his hand against the attendant's chest. He felt a quick rush of cold, so intense it burned inside of him, and he bit his lip against a groan. The feeling settled closed to his heart, nestled neatly against its beating rhythm. "When you are in need of protecting something hidden, this place inside will keep it away from any prying eyes. But it will only work for one secret. Choose carefully."

"Does it work against you?"

The god stood gracefully. "Nothing works against me. Never forget that."

When he visited Beyond that night, he painted the words I Am Alone on the nothing sky, though his sleeping self couldn't remember why.

* * *

><p>The conversation with the god of secrets was the first thing he chose to keep from Elgar'nan, though this wasn't difficult. As the weeks passed the god became less interested in his waking hours and more interested in the dreams. He asked repeatedly if he'd found anything new, any objects that hadn't been there before. No matter how he told him of its vast emptiness, filled only by the few spirits who remained, the god never tired of hearing what it was like to slip into the world of dreams and walk on ground that wasn't real. The spirits interested him little, only the details, again and again, of something that was different from the grass of the courtyards and the marble of the halls.<p>

"Can you take another with you?" he asked once. The god's voice was dark with hunger, and Fen'Harel knew without understanding that he must be desperate indeed to reveal such weakness to him.

"I've never tried," he said, "but I don't think so. Not and keep them alive. I only travel through my own mind, and to pull someone else with it would separate them from their body."

Elgar'nan looked disappointed, but not surprised. "What if a door was built between them? If a space, a hole, existed, could you reach through it and pull someone else in?"

"I don't know. I've never seen anything like that." He paused, considering. "I'd like to try it, if such a door could be found."

"Of course you would. Your curiosity is only dwarfed by your strength. And your loyalty. I was truly blessed when you came to me." The god rose from the chair next to his bed. He bent over Fen'Harel and kissed his head. The elf blinked up at him. This wasn't the pointed teasing the god used to try to test him. It was genuine affection. Maybe even a little concern. He didn't know what to do with something so pure from his master, so he remained silent.

Elgar'nan sighed. "Loathe as I am to risk you, I think I must. Come to the Pantheon tomorrow just after the fourth bell. There will be a conclave that will decide much."

* * *

><p>The Pantheon was the last place in Holy Arlathan he'd never been. Only the gods were allowed inside, unless by request, and he'd certainly never been requested. When he arrived in the cleanest training robes he had, he was the closest to nervous he'd ever been. Servants lined the hall, marked by their patrons or dressed in the colors of those they served if they had none. By the look of them, nearly every god was represented, and by the number of marks he could see, most of them had brought their most senior attendants with them.<p>

His nervousness bloomed fully, but he walked to the guarded doors with a measured pace. At first they only scowled at him, but a whisper from the captain had them tipping their heads in the slightest of bows. The doors opened in front of him without touch or sound, another of the unexplainable magics of the place, and he heard a grumbling from the hall behind him. He looked to his right and saw Therin watching him, an unreadable look on his face. Fen'Harel tried to smile, but he felt it come out as a wince, and he quickly turned back and walked into the room.

It was darker than he'd expected, dark after the brightness that permeated Arlathan even at night. The room was also much smaller than the building outside, which made him wonder what else was hidden behind its walls by these gods who lacked the power of dreams. He frowned at the uncharacteristically sharp thought, and realized that the soft mist that he'd grown so used to was absent. He breathed in deeply, felt his mind clear in response, and a wall in his memory he hadn't even known was there began to slowly lower. Before he could examine it more closely, Elgar'nan motioned to him. He walked to join the man at the front of the room, where he sat in formal state with the other gods of his stature.

To his surprise, the god placed him in a seat directly next to him, and his hand found Fen'Harel's knee and squeezed. _Another kind of seduction?_ he wondered. But the hand didn't move, just gripped him, and he realized this was the god's method of remaining in power when he had no ability to control a mind. Unsubtle at best. The god wasn't as assured as he seemed. Fen'Harel's mind turned over with the effort of reclaiming himself. _Do not forget this._ Another voice answered, from far away. _Remember me_. He frowned again. It sounded like his own.

The pressure on his leg was only relieved when Elgar'nan stood to address the chamber. He looked around at the assembled Creators. They were without flaw, beautiful from the most to the least, and he was swept away against his will. How often had he dreamed of this in his patient, forlorn childhood? Greatness started from outside and worked its way in, and Fen'Harel was at last in position to receive his promised destiny. Manon's face floated into his mind and his eyes widened. How could he have forgotten?

"Brothers and sisters, I, the Father of all, greet you. Thank you for your patience and your presence. As you all know, we've been working long years to restore our connection to the Beyond and the magic inside of it. Our foci dwindle, and the borrowed power we've been granted will not last forever. At long last we may have the pieces we need to reclaim what is ours by right. But we can go no farther without a test, and the help of you all." He turned slightly behind him. "Please bring it in."

A small group of servants came through a door that opened directly behind him, and Fen'Harel was among the last to see what they carried. When they brought it around the long table that housed the major gods, he gasped. It was a tall column of glass that wasn't glass, but a material that held a shimmering reflection of the world around it. When they tilted it towards him while they settled it, he saw his own face, the one he knew well from the spirits who'd worn it, looking back at him. His face, but not his face, a reflection that was both real and not. The craftsmen of June must have worked endlessly to create something so enchanted. "The Beyond," he whispered. Elgar'nan heard and smiled at him.

"This is an Eluvian, a portal by which we may reach the spirits once more. However, while it exists and we know it goes somewhere, we've had no way of testing where it reaches, and, more importantly, what might safely pass through." He paused. "Until now."

He placed his hand on Fen'Harel's shoulder, and he shivered. He was meant to make the attempt in front of the entirety of the Pantheon? Elgar'nan squeezed him again, this time comfortingly, and he relaxed a little. The god needed him. He wouldn't chance him if he truly thought he would fail. And if there was even a chance of success, he would succeed. It was the only choice he allowed himself.

The god waved in another group, a dozen or so, this time wearing markings on their face and dressed in the robes of the mages. Daern'thal was the most widely represented, but several other gods were present. His eyes focused on one, a woman with the markings of Mythal with hair as white as the spires. She had a familiarity that he couldn't place, like a word on the end of his tongue. He chafed at the wall in his mind that still kept things from him, tried to find the cracks that were appearing. Her face was too old. Someone younger. Laughing over a tea cup. Not so tired, not so used up. Lips that curved upward when he kissed her ear.

He fought and clawed at the memories until his mind bled inside, and then he was himself again without warning. He remembered everything. _Rina_. Shame threatened to engulf him, then, at how completely he'd forgotten her since he'd arrive. She didn't even look at him, seemed not to see anything around her, but she walked forward at the command of the mother goddess she served and knelt in the circle of mages.

Elgar'nan clapped his hands together. "Now we will see what we have."


	5. Trade

Ribbons rose off of the mages into the air, streamers of magic that flowed through the room on currents. _Too much magic. _No one body could hold so much inside of it and live, but somehow it continued to flow. Was this what made his friend so old before her time? The channeling of so much power? He growled to himself, and Elgar'nan gave him a sharp look. He subsided, aware of his tenuous position, but he didn't stop watching her face. She didn't look like she was in pain. She didn't look like anything. It scared him, and he was never afraid.

A shimmering in the corner of his eye drew him away, and the Eluvian shifted and warped underneath the magic that wrapped around it like a cloud. When all of the ribbons had curled into its frame, he heard the sound of a fist against a door. Knocking once, twice, three times before it smoothly punched through reality. He doubled over, gasping. He felt the tear like a rip in his gut. The Father bent over him, rubbing his shoulders, and he leaned into the soothing touch. The feeling wasn't pain so much as loss. Or maybe absence. He wondered where they'd ended up. He looked up at the god with a question in his eyes.

"Not yet," he whispered.

The servants who'd carried the Eluvian in gathered in front of its indistinct glow and tossed objects at it. At first the assembled gods gasped in fear, worried the thing would shatter, but instead each offering passed smoothly through its face and vanished completely. An apple. A robe. A ball of string. A piece of wood. Over and over again they vanished and each time the pricks in his stomach would return before subsiding. He learned not to show the pain, to watch impassively with the rest.

Although perhaps they didn't watch so impassively. The excitement in the room was building to a fever pitch, and Elgar'nan basked in their admiration. Applause started somewhere in the room, though he didn't know where, but soon it was a rising thunder and still the servants tossed things at the portal. A book. A piece of metal. A belt.

When the applause subsided, a voice floated across the table. Dirthamen smiled lazily as he spoke. "Very impressive, Father, of course. It certainly seems to go somewhere. But who's to say it's the Beyond and not another piece of Arlathan? Or perhaps we're dropping our leftover food on the head of some quickling in the north?" Laughter skittered through the Pantheon.

_Because I can feel the dreams escaping,_ thought Fen'Harel, but he stayed quiet. Dirthamen tipped him a wink, and he understood then that this was part of the show.

"A good question, brother, and one worthy of he who keeps our secrets so ably. As I said, we've had no way to test our grand work. No one in Holy Arlathan can enter the Beyond, and the time drain of the outside world deteriorates an Eluvian in minutes. But my servant, Fen'Harel, has defied these rules in my service. He is now ready for the next step of his proving. He will walk in the Beyond and tell us what can be found."

The god nudged him. Fen'Harel felt a little embarrassed at the thought of trying to fall asleep with the entirety of the gods staring at him hungrily, but he would do it. He needn't have worried. Elgar'nan handed him a cup of liquid, and he drank it quickly. Before he could set down the cup, he was falling, and the world of dreams opened to him once more.

* * *

><p>He sat up, disoriented. For the first time he was flat on his back on the dreamscape, and his head ached. Whatever was in the cup was apparently not a pleasant way to enter the Beyond. He tried to remember what he was doing here. While his mind was whole again, with no separating line, it was fuzzy in a way that made it hard to think. The Pantheon. He was looking for things.<p>

He glanced around vaguely. Still empty. I Am Alone was burning in the sky, and he smiled at finally understanding what it meant. No gods here. No one but him and the spirits.

Fen'Harel frowned. Where were the spirts?

He found his answer easily when he focused his will. They were all crowded onto the same point of the monotonous world, writhing and pushing with a hunger they'd never displayed before even in his presence. The portal must be there. He blinked and moved to them. His control was complete in this world.

Underneath their flickering forms he saw the things he was looking for. A book. The apple. But they were almost invisible. They weren't real in the way that he was, or the words in the sky, or even the way the spirits were real. He reached down to pick up the apple and shuddered as power poured into it against his will. It solidified, became real under his fingers, and when he pulled it to his mouth and ate it was the best apple he'd ever tasted.

That was a few questions answered, at least. They'd found the Beyond with the Eluvian, and items could pass through, but the connection was weak and tenuous and nothing would last without him. He smiled at the thought. He was more necessary than the gods.

The spirits took no notice of him, trying to force their way through the portal that only worked one way. He sliced them apart from him with his magic, trapping them inside glass, and he threw apologetic looks to his friends when they shrieked and fought. "I'm sorry. I am. But this is not meant for you." He touched the wavering thinness that was easier felt than seen, and it bucked underneath its hand like a woman in heavy pleasure. He hardened in response and felt shame flood through him. Rina was the one he pictured under his hand, and the memory was like a knife in his heart. He shook it away and listened.

He could hear muffled noises beyond the Veil. It sounded like an argument, but the words were indistinct. He sent a little of his power into the thinness, just enough to break a small hole into the world, and things became slightly more clear. Andruil was angry, impatient, wanting to perform the hunt herself. All the gods were chafing, waiting for some unmarked boy to tell them if they could be saved. He smirked. Elgar'nan's attempts to soothe them weren't working, and a voice called out for them to send a person through as a better test. Nothing was happening with the Father's slave. They wanted more.

Fen'Harel panicked. Even these small items had hurt him as they broke through the world only he could feel. An entire person, with all they contained inside themselves, might kill him. _Not to mention the person they sent_, he thought guiltily, but that seemed less important than his own life. Less important until he heard a cry of "The mages!" ring out, and he knew who they might throw through.

_Oh my friend, no. Not you and your beautiful hair, the smile that enchants, the fire in your eyes that only I saw, never you, never never never._ He remembered their lovemaking under the cool lights of the city, wild and hungry so long ago. Not beautiful, but everything he'd needed. It had been so long, he'd denied himself so long, and she was safe to want. He clenched his hands into fists, hard and aching and wanting to beg for her touch. "Please," he whispered.

One of the glass-caged spirits screamed, louder than any before, and the cage exploded. A spirt of love twisted under Fen'Harel's need and emotion. It raced to the portal again, becoming desire, and he could only watch mutely as the demon slid through the hole he'd made. There were screams on the other side, and he reached with his mind, stretching and twisting through the Veil. He didn't know what he was doing, could barely think at all beyond the roaring need in his blood, and then Rina was there, and the world went black.

* * *

><p>If someone had asked him what would happen if he passed out in the Beyond, he would have guessed he'd simply wake up in his body. If sleeping was a portal between worlds for the soul, surely it worked both ways. But now he came out of unconsciousness slowly, blinking, and he was still in the place of gray nothingness. His cages had held the rest of the sprits, thankfully, and he lifted his hand up tiredly to close the hole he'd made. Even that small effort was almost beyond him, and he felt himself sliding back into that black world behind the eyes.<p>

A hand shook his shoulders, and he sat up growling. I Am Alone. He didn't know he'd said the words until a dry voice answered "Well, not exactly."

It was her. He'd pulled her through. He'd forgotten her again. "Oh Rina, forgive me," he said, turning towards her. He gasped in surprised. No more white hair, no more age-lined face, just the friend he remembered. He narrowed his eyes. Not exactly as he remembered. A little more mature. Wiser, somehow. She lifted her lips in a wry smile and that was all it took before he was on her.

She gasped as he took her mouth, but she didn't fight him, and as his hands grew more frantic on her body she responded in kind. She whispered his name deliciously into the air, and he loved her, oh he loved her beyond all reason. The ground exploded in color underneath him as she drew him out of himself. He lost control over his powers and patterns seared themselves into the gray, sandy ground of dreams. Each touch brought a new color, each kiss a new shape, each moan a new shiver through him. He never wanted it to end, but he knew he wouldn't last. She was already bringing him close, so close and he hadn't even touched her yet.

He felt guilty but it didn't matter, it couldn't matter, because he had no choice. His release was wild and to his shock she fell with him as he ground himself against her. He wept into her hair, from joy or sadness he didn't know. Maybe both. She was shuddering underneath him, saying his name over and over, and he kissed her head and the tips of her ears and the pads of her fingers while she cried. "I've missed you so much," she said.

"I love you," he replied. He knew it was true, that it had always been true, and the land of Arlathan was nothing in comparison to the beauty of that truth on his lips.

She yanked his head back and glared at him. "A fine thing to tell a girl after you abandon her for ten years." Her eyes softened. "You look exactly the same."

"So do you," he said smiling. He yelped. "Ten years?" His mind searched for the decade he'd lived and found nothing but softness and fog. "I don't remember… it couldn't have possibly been that long."

"How long was it?" she asked, amused.

"A few weeks. Maybe a few months. At most."

"The Creators are mysterious and cruel." Her face wrenched a little into the older, more tired version of herself. He stroked her cheek, and the pain drifted from it. "I'm just glad to know I didn't burn for you for nothing, beautiful idiot."

He wanted to ask her about her pain, but he couldn't bring himself to invite that look back here, into this place where they were alone. And her eyes were stiffening him again, and he was a mess physically and mentally, and he didn't want her to think it was only lust that drove him. He rolled off of her and took her hand.

The words on the sky shone down on them, and he laughed to know they weren't true. "Who put that up there?" she asked. "There's nothing else in the dream but those words."

"I did," he said proudly. At last she would know that he had power as well. "I can do anything I like, here." He reached out with his hand and twisted. The sky responded, crossing out the words and replacing them with the light sound of fingers on rock. Rina Is Beautiful.

She elbowed him. "Flatterer." He heard the smile in her voice. His heart leapt fiercely to know that even with this, she would never be awed by him. "We have to go back. They'll be frantic. They'll be trying to force their way through, next. They might kill some of my fellows to do it. I don't want that to happen."

"I don't know if I can send you back. I don't even know how you got here."

She rolled onto her elbow and looked at him with lights in her eyes. "Fen'Harel doesn't know something? The Creators jest with me. He is so very wise, though he is no longer my elder." He choked. "It's true you know. At best we're the same age."

He licked his lips. "Good. I never liked younger women. So easily seduced away." She tried to sit up in a huff, but he pulled her back. It wasn't only lust, but he needed again, even just for a minute.

"I don't want to go back yet," he murmured against her lips. "Please, Rina."

"I never want to go back. But we have to." She didn't stop kissing him, though. He removed her clothes, piece by piece, and reveled in each little breathy moan she made when he explored a new peak and valley of her. By the time he was done and she was gloriously bare beside him, she was the one begging him. He took her easily, as gentle as the dawn, and loved her sweetly under the sky that held her name.

* * *

><p>Later they stood together in front of the portal holding hands like children. He shook his head. "Last time, when I pulled you through, something took your place in the world. It was a trade of energy. They've almost certainly killed the demon, and I can't let anyone else in. This is our place."<p>

She smiled. "I like that." She thought for a minute. "I don't have any connection to my magic here, not that there's any nature around for it to work with. Can you open a portal yourself, anywhere you want? Without an Eluvian?"

"I don't know. I've never tried. I didn't even know this was possible until an hour ago."

"Try, my love," and the way she said it was enough to give him strength for anything. He breathed deeply and felt at the edges of the world, looking for something he could use. The walls were unyielding too far out, at the edges of the holy part of Arlathan, but inside it stretched under his touch. He sensed something familiar and stopped. The tree he'd sat under with Dirthamen, when he'd learned his first secret. This was a place he could touch.

"I found something." He grabbed her hand and tried to show her what he was sensing. Her mind twined into his, and he groaned at a pleasure that was no less sensual for being mental.

"Yes. A tree. I sense it too. Open both places. I'll bring the tree through, and you can shove me out. Hopefully it will be enough balance." He hesitated, and she squeezed his hand. "Do it."

"What if you don't remember me?" _What if I don't remember you?_

"The heart always remembers. Be brave." He tore the Veil as she said, and she was gone.

He blinked around him, saw a beautiful, perfect tree in the middle of the vast landscape. Their tree. He closed the portals and released the spirits from their cages, now that she was safely away. They flocked to the new life in their world with joy, and he was glad their resentment towards him had faded with the gift. _Until next time, my friends_, he thought, and stepped back through his own mind to Arlathan.


End file.
